


Bad Religion

by cdra



Series: Kinktober 2019 [17]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Abstract Gore, Blood, Brainwashing, Conditioning, Corruption, Crimson Flower Route, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Extremely Toxic Relationship, F/M, Gore, Kinktober, Kinktober 2019, Oral Sex, cf dimitri is not okay, rhea has a dragon dick, rhea's lost it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-17 02:57:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21047165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cdra/pseuds/cdra
Summary: It's easier to spearhead a war and become a tempest of a man when you aren't being suffocated by your own compassion. It's easier when someone else is there to remind you of how dark and hot your vengeance burns in your chest, to stoke the flames and keep you sword-fanged and armor-hearted.[Kinktober Day 18 - Corruption]





	Bad Religion

**Author's Note:**

> It's pain and feral o'clock, apparently. WHEW.
> 
> DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, I AM VERY ON MY BULLSHIT TODAY
> 
> This... was written weirdly. Very abstract and foggy. I didn't feel like being detailed, so... I took a fuzzy approach, but I'm not sure I like it. meh ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ they can't all be winners

It's easier to spearhead a war and become a tempest of a man when you aren't being suffocated by your own compassion. It's easier when someone else is there to remind you of how dark and hot your vengeance burns in your chest, to stoke the flames and keep you sword-fanged and armor-hearted.

Somehow, in the circumstances at hand, Rhea is that someone.

She does not stay by Dimitri’s side endlessly; she has her own matters to tend to, and he, his. She is archbishop of a crumbling church, and he is king of a country at war—but they want the same things, share the same enemy, and as it were, that’s enough to make for company.

Rhea wants the Professor back, or dead, or both, and laments wistfully how they haven’t found them yet while baring her fangs in the same breath—but it was _Edelgard _who spirited them away, who ruined everything she mutters about when no one’s listening. Dimitri wants Edelgard’s head removed from her shoulders, a small penance for all the destruction she’s wrought, as an end to this war and an offering to the ghosts that linger still under his skin.

They’re a match made in hell, but Dimitri supposes that’s only fitting. She’ll guide him there with her own hands, patient and saint-like yet as monstrous as his own, and show him how to drag Edelgard with him into the eternal flames with him as she takes her own beloved enemy into her arms.

“That’s right, Dimitri,” she says, her tone so kind on his ears yet dripping with madness, “You’re acting with the will of the goddess—let all of your hatred free, and punish those who dare speak hersey against her.” Rhea’s hand is around his neck, delicate and soft but utterly threatening; her voice is against his ear, egging on the darkness in his heart that he tries so _hard _not to fall prey to.

Except here. Here, where no one will see but her, there’s no sense in pretending, for Rhea knows the bestial nature of his heart as well as her own.

The world goes dark, colored over her validations and assurances; Dimitri forgets himself, his gaze hollow and distant. The prisoner before him is dressed in Imperial black—it will only take a moment for it to become dyed red.

He lashes out, a flurry of growls and bared fangs. Bone crunches easily under his feet; joints crack from their sockets under the force of his hands. The screams and sobs are terrible, gut-wrenching, but they blend in with the sounds of the ghosts in Dimitri’s memories and it’s soothing, a macabre sort of chorus. “You’re a _monster_,” a distant, blood-wet voice chokes, “Even more of a monster than they said—!”

“Yes,” he growls, his voice airy and disconnected, “A monster… just a beast in human skin.” There’s another sickening crack of flesh and bone; blood splatters across Dimitri’s face, but he doesn’t seem to feel it or even recognize it. He’s somewhere else, far away from the echoes of Fhirdiad’s dungeons; wherever he is, the king laughs dryly, a bladed sound like the shattering of glass. “It’s painful, keeping it inside… you couldn’t even imagine. That’s why…”

The words are hardly his own. They vibrate in his throat, but the voice that leaves his lips doesn’t sound like Dimitri—it sounds like a phantom that’s possessed him, unfeeling and exhausted. It sounds like Rhea’s whispers in his ear, reverberating through his head and onto his tongue, leaving nothing but a disgusting sort of peace of mind, like the crawling of insects in silence.

“You waste your breath, Dimitri,” Rhea’s voice echoes quietly, just over the soldier’s whimpers, but then it rises to a roar. “Let your anger free. Show them just how foolish it is to file in line beyond that blasphemous wench!”

He laughs, the sound soft and broken. Ribs snap at his bare hands; the screaming stops, leaving only the pounding noise in his head, the humorless laughter bouncing from the walls, the gentle drip of blood from his sleeves to the stone floor, and _Rhea_.

She possesses his attention with not a sound, but with a gentle, appraising gaze from the table she’s using as a makeshift seat. "You are right to destroy them, to rid this world of those corrupt enough to curse her name; do not forget that, Dimitri.” She says it just as the blood starts to feel like tar on his skin, sticky and vile; Dimitri lets out a shaky breath and shudders, a cold sensation overtaking him. The misshapen collection of bone and flesh in front of him was human, once.

Dazed, he finds himself on his knees in front of her, hands curled along the insides of her thighs and leaving a trail of blood behind. Rhea allows it with a gentle smile, a hand threading through his hair without a care for the mess he is. “You still have prayers you must give, do you? Then pray, good king.” She spreads her legs for him and lifts her already-stained robes high, revealing her arousal readily. Desperate to keep the fog over his thoughts a little longer, Dimitri presses his mouth to her shaft and mutters something meaningless, punch-drunk and far-away.

“Let it grant you strength,” Rhea sighs as he licks a slow stripe up the underside of her cock; there’s a taste of iron where his bloody fingers meet the top of it. “For you and I, both, we must be strong if we are to win this war… to destroy that wretched girl, and that _mistake_.” She hisses her distaste and rolls her hips upward just as Dimitri takes her into his mouth; her grip tightens in his hair, but the fury in the clench of her fists is not meant for him. He feels only the reassurance that she seeks more from him, the monstrous solidarity of their war-blackened hearts.

She loosens her grip and moans softly; Dimitri takes her deeper, all the way to the back of his throat, and drinks in the way her voice flutters. “Ah… your devotion is unmistakable,” Rhea praises him sweetly, lets her rage melt into heat that drips stickily from her tongue and her cock alike. “That’s good, _so _good—let this prayer sink into your very soul…”

Her hips buck, and Dimitri flattens his tongue to accomodate for her length. His breaths turn to soft, muffled moans as his eyelids sink low and his palms tense against her thighs, slipping over bloody trails. Rhea’s praises don’t let up, heavy and spiritual, like shackles that keep Dimitri bound to her will yet free from the thoughts that plague him.

This is only right. A match made in hell, a war of heresy and hate—it’s only right that he clings to the bonds Rhea laces around his heart.

At the end of the dreamlike haze he’s left panting with white stains on his face, mingling with the half-dry blood. He’s left with the heavy, vile feeling in his limbs of knowing what he’s done and the horrible weight of taking a life—but Rhea’s fingers stroke his hair tenderly and she hums a soft song, unbothered by the horror of it all.

Dimitri will be bothered, haunted all the same—but until he must be alone with his demons once more, he simply rests his head against Rhea’s thigh and closes his eyes into a dreamless fog.

**Author's Note:**

> anyone keeping up with me: I'm going into the woods this weekend and will not have my computer to write or upload things so there will be a bit of a delay on kinktober posts until I return from the woods ! stay classy ao3


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